


The Sure Thing

by hannahrhen



Series: Good, Giving, Game [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was day twelve, the “first time.” Given the ridiculous amount of experience each had with just about everything, Loki allowed that reenacting Tony’s deflowering would suffice.</p><p>But that meant Tony had to talk about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sure Thing

**Author's Note:**

> **A note on content** : Tony describes his first, consensual experience as a teenager with another teenager. If that makes you uncomfortable, you may want to wait until part 9, which will be back to the regular Frostiron narrative. 
> 
> At some point, I will probably reorder the chapters to follow the narrative; for now, though, I'm keeping the stories in the order they're written. Ergo, this one goes after [Confession](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/) but well before [Receiving End](http://archiveofourown.org/works/818584).
> 
>  **Thanks** to [seekingidlewild](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingIdlewild/pseuds/SeekingIdlewild) for reading it and being supportive.

The first time Tony slid into Loki, they were supposed to be pretending. 

It was day twelve, the “first time.” Given the ridiculous amount of experience each had with just about everything, Loki allowed that reenacting Tony’s deflowering would suffice.

“Would you not call it that?” He was poking around Loki’s spare, generically fashionable living room, still getting used to having the freedom--okay, “freedom”--to leave his happy little dungeon.

Loki was still shadowing him. “Ah, yes--you have a fondness for that _fruit_ reference, I believe?”

Tony’s glare would have burned a hole in another man. He picked up a small figure of a tree, cast in silver--had it plucked from his hand just as quickly, returned to the shelf.

So, back to business: cherry-popping. For the record, it took some time to get to what that was, exactly. Tony had learned a lesson from the Clinton Administration, and, while Loki rolled his eyes, Tony demanded a specific definition of what “sex” meant to former Norse deities. He sure as shit wasn’t going to assume anything.

“You, Stark, spilling your seed between a pair of legs attached to another being--preferably conscious, preferably willing,” Loki said, even the amusing hand gestures didn’t stop Tony from being annoyed.

“Hey--I never--”

“I’m sure--every experience you had was consensual and fully considered,” Loki rolled over his protests. “But when I say ‘first time,’ no matter your attempts at disingenuousness, you form a memory in your mind.” His low threat went a little snake-hissy; Tony could hear it. “I want to know what it is. To start: How old were you?”

The look Tony got pretty much dared him to fuck around. Promised consequences. And no one had ever called Tony Stark stupid.

“Yeah, okay--fifteen,” he said finally. Loki didn’t react. Shit, pretty much everyone he’d told had given him the eyebrow of being vaguely impressed or horrified, because _fifteen_ , and Tony wondered, not for the first time, if ages on Asgard tracked with regular human ages. For all he knew, the two princes had concubines from their first pre-pube hard-ons, and ... err, that wasn’t something he wanted to think too much about.

His mind must have wandered, because he was prompted, in a tone of fresh impatience, “Woman? Man?”

“Oh, Christ, I wasn’t that adventurous back then. Not for a few more years, anyway. No, it was a woman, a ... well,” Tony kind of shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. Uncomfortably. “A girl, really. Just someone I knew.”

The silence lingered, but it wasn’t tense. Yet? _Yet._ Loki spoke first, his tone knowing. “Your face changed, when you thought of her,” and when Tony met Loki’s eyes, he got a little smile. It was ... Hm. Like sharing a secret.

A good secret. For once.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t ... it wasn’t bad,” he said, with Loki’s “Tell me” swallowing his words before the sentence was finished.

So, Tony talked.

She was a friend from his old private school, someone he visited when he was home from MIT. She was a year older, had--

“‘--missed you, you little shit,’ she said when I showed up at her door. _Ha._ It was the High Eighties--everything neon and rubber and just shitty, shitty. Well, mostly shitty. Music: bad. Movies: bad.”

He considered. “No, not all bad. Actually, she had this thing for this band, they--she would play these fucking two albums over and over and over, _Tim_ and whatever the other was called. Had the posters on her wall. Not my thing, but ... Yeah, it was hers. Good memories of listening to them and--well. And not every movie sucked. We were watching this tape on her old VCR, it was called _Evil Dead_ \--no ideas, now, Price of Darkness--and as I was getting a hand under her shirt, I could hear the TV.”

Heh. Bruce Campbell. His wingman.

He didn’t remember it like it was yesterday, maybe, but he remembered it better than ... better than he would expect to. The stuffy smell of the windowless basement, the shag rug that had been expensive and fashionable a dozen years before and now showed off too many family excesses. The Pachinko game embedded in the wall by the stairs.

The couch. The comfortable, perfect couch.

Missy had been ... well. Enthusiastic? There were cliches--too many “jokes” and horror stories about overconfident guys and unwilling-- _underwilling_ girls. He’d heard the stories from both sides: unsettling, boastful jests from guys he could have considered “buddies,” if not friends, and girls who demurred from being touched too much, too soon, because ... well, “a couple of years ago, I had this boyfriend--”

Loki could joke all he wanted, but one thing Tony had never done was press the unwilling. When he was older, he didn’t have to, and when he was younger ... it just wouldn’t have occurred to him. And Missy ... God, for whatever reason, Melissa had been right on board--

“--Hell, she had driven the goddamned bus. I thought I was all slick, with the videotape in my hand, ringing the bell. I thought maybe some kissing, maybe she’d let me hump her thigh like the dog I was, but she saw right through me. She was smart. Christ, so smart. Took one look at me and--”

\--and pulled him inside anyway. “‘Kiss me on the bus,’ indeed.”

Loki squinted a little in confusion but didn’t ask.

She was his first; he wasn’t hers, which took some pressure off. “Maybe a little too much pressure, in retrospect.” No one--else--had ever called Tony Stark stupid, but it was certainly a word he liked to flog himself with.

Tony kept talking. Loki listened. Asked questions. And, if Tony had ever--and he had never, for the record--doubted Loki’s ability as a sorcerer, it vanished as the airy living room transformed before his eyes.

“Shag carpet--what is that?”

“What color was the couch? Material?”

“Were the stairs wooden, stone? Cement?”

“What was on the walls?”

Tony waved off describing Pachinko--too complicated; unnecessary detail. The questions barely interrupted the flow of Tony’s reminisces, and it only took a short sketch for Loki to ... make it happen. It wasn’t a match, the end result, but as carpet melded into couch-end-tables-lamps, as abstract splashes hinting at artwork appeared on the hard walls, as a mysteriously perfect replica of a thirty-year-old television appeared a few feet away, Tony just--

“Fuck.”

Proust’s madeleines had nothing on this.

“Why did you choose her?” Loki asked later, after he was through. They had ended up on the couch, barefooted, Tony at one end, Loki at the other, each slumped against some pretty ugly brown cushions. Conjured or not, the whole thing creaked at each movement. Tony had asked for, gotten the bowl of Doritos and bottles of Mountain Dew, neither of which Loki would touch. They were placed on the coffee table, half-forgotten, TV silently running Evil Dead on the other side.

Loki’s legs were folded underneath him, and Tony had one leg up, half-bent, on the couch seat between them. Tony knew this was foreplay, this _pretending_ , but the comfort of it made him somehow less comfortable.

He studied the lines of Loki’s tucked-away legs, remembered the last question. “‘Choose?’” Tony snorted. “You’re giving too much credit to the experience of the average fifteen-year-old guy, even one with as much money as I had. We were surrounded by people with money, anyway, so whether Dad had fifty million or five hundred, it didn’t actually affect my ability to get laid. My mouth--” He stopped himself, then tried again. “My mouth got me into trouble, most of the time, either too smart for pretty much everyone else in the room, or just ... being a dumbass when I actually liked someone.”

Loki’s calm observation only made Tony feel more inane.

“So, she was what, then? Just an opportunity?” Loki asked, and Tony got a hint of why he wasn’t really comfortable.

He ignored it, of course. Went for the joke. “The mythical Sure Thing?” Tony forced a laugh at the reference as Loki blinked, shrugged. “No, she was-- She was good.” A pause. “Good.” He looked away. “I actually liked her.”

More silence that Tony tried very hard not to fill. But, still, he cracked. “You really want me to keep talking about her? Someone else I fucked?” The word was crude to attach to that memory, but he figured it might mitigate any bad mojo Loki was inclined to fling his way.

Sure enough, as if offended by Tony’s very thoughts, Loki snapped, “Stark, whatever you think of me, I won’t expend effort being jealous of someone who became _irrelevant_ more than half your lifetime ago.”

Another hole, burned.

And, “Fine,” Tony said, hitching his leg into a better position, reaching over for the Mountain Dew. “So, that whole time period ... in retrospect, everyone looked like shit.” Paused. Unscrewed the cap. Drank. Grimaced. “I mean, like I said, neon, which no one can wear well. Or, if you weren’t wearing prairie gear, you were wearing safari clothes, or geometric shapes, or, you know, you wore black on the outside because black is how you felt on the inside.”

He stopped, gave Loki a very pointed look. “Something tells me you know a little about--”

“Stark.”

Tony snorted, took another swig, set the bottle and cap back on the coffee table. “Anyway. She was ... She somehow managed to look amazing even with a dozen black rubber bracelets running up her arm, the asymmetrical hair, ripped t-shirts with safety pins holding them together. Pink high-tops. She just ... Missy was just one of those people. And, like I said, smart.

“That song’s remained the same. Huh.”

His eyes went unfocused again. “And always beautiful, no matter what. No matter what she had on, no matter what she was doing. Some of it was just ... sixteen, you know, but ... not all of it. Most of it was just ... her.” He sighed. “She just was.” He sneaked a peek at Loki. Oh, yeah--that particular attribute? He hadn’t come across it much, but this fucker had it in spades. 

When he wasn’t trying to kill Tony.

Or--shit--sometimes when he was.

Loki unfolded a leg, prodded Tony with the ball of his foot before curling back into himself. “What was it like? When you took her?”

Tony chuckled. Couldn’t explain to Loki that it wasn’t like taking anything. It was like ... it was like the gates had opened and he’s been welcomed in. _He’d_ been taken _in_ , and Loki wouldn’t understand. So, instead, he tried, “The usual. Warm, wet. Tight. You’ve been with women, right? You know--”

That wasn’t gonna fly. “I still would like your answer, Stark.”

Fine. Here’s the part where he handed Loki the ammo. After a long exhale: “Well. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, I guess it was pretty ... lackluster. For her? I had no idea what I was doing. One of those idiots who thought if I just kept fucking her hard she’d come, or close enough to count. And she didn’t, as far as I could tell, which is ... yeah, I was a dog. No idea what to do, didn’t ask. Didn’t even bring condoms, and wouldn’t have used one if she hadn’t had them and made me put one on.

“But I _was_ a dog--most guys are at that age--and, honestly, mostly I just felt relieved to finally do it, and ... Fuck, it just felt great. Amazing. Like I finally knew what my dick was for.” Smiled ruefully at Loki’s chuckle. “Probably came in about three minutes, but, you know, fifteen. Had it up again twenty minutes later, and she was game.” He made a face at himself. “She ... she tolerated me, I think she actually kind of liked me, even when I was a selfish little shit. Which, come to think of it, is pretty much how I could describe all of my relationships for the last thirty years or so.” He sighed. “Pepper. Rhodey. Steve--”

Remembered who he was talking to, suddenly, and looked away for a minute, tried to shake off the ache of nostalgia, the strong, orange-alert feeling of having said too much.

Of having foolish, human _sentiment_ , Loki would say.

But Loki said, “What became of her?”

Tony hummed, ran toes in the worn shag beneath his foot. “She’s good, last I heard. Went to UPenn, then Chicago. MBA or an accounting degree, something like it. Husband, kids. Happy, I guess? I dunno. I’m not much of a reunion guy, and I stopped going home as soon as I could, and then there was no reason to go home. So the closest I’ve come to her since that break is owning stock in the companies she’s handled the books for.” He smiled, an embarrassed little smile. “They’ve always done pretty well.”

He was quiet for a moment, looked at the movement on the TV, and finished, with his own little hiss: “And, for the record, Loki--she never became _irrelevant._ ”

He felt a little tingle in the air, the electricity like Thor’s, and he resisted the urge to look up at Loki when he knew his own face was still saying too much. Only heard Loki when the god said, “Thank you for sharing that, Stark,” and the voice wasn’t right. When Tony looked back over, he--

Oh.

Loki the liar-god. Loki the shapeshifter.

Loki the _woman_.

_Oh._

His features, unsurprisingly, lent themselves to a feminine recast: everything just slightly narrowed, a brighter sheen to his skin, hair framing his face and pooling in the hollows above his collarbones. His shoulders, exposed, were still strong-looking, if narrower. He wore--

Tony swallowed.

He had to give Loki credit. The god could have gone for the full Monty and Tony wouldn’t have complained at all, but instead he was dressed simply, jade-green silky tank top (and no bra, God, his nipples pricking up into the soft fabric). Some kind of calf-length, slim-fitting black skirt, like a sarong, which allowed his feet to spread but bound and hid the rest of his lower body. The perfect tease.

Tony knew-- _knew_ \--he was bare underneath.

He looked nothing like Melissa, but, no matter what else Loki was, no matter what he did, he was always beautiful.

Like her, _he just was._

Tony wondered what Loki saw in his face, and he would have looked away, but Loki’s amused hum distracted him. When he raised his wrist, Loki showed Tony his little joke: a dozen black rubber bracelets bumping against each other. Tony snorted, shook his head.

Loki reclined further on the other side of the couch, skirt tightening and pulling across his thighs, riding up a little, and Tony couldn’t resist the urge to touch the ankle that was so close, stroke his hand up the calf, both exposed. Never let it be said Loki didn’t go for authenticity; even his skin was perfectly smooth, as if freshly waxed.

Then, reclaiming his hand, waving in Loki’s direction, over his form: “Is this how you want to do this? Is this what you want?”

“I thought it would be easier for you. More authentic.” He gave a curious tilt of his head. “Consider it a gift.”

Tony put one hand on Loki’s knee, over the cotton weave of the skirt. Ran a thumb over the round bone. “You’re gorgeous like this.” He swallowed past his dry throat, jiggled Loki’s knee when he heard the laugh. “You know you’re gorgeous, you piece of shit.” Loki’s amused expression gained a bit of warning. “Yeah, no--I mean, let’s not rule this out, for one day in the not-so-distant future, but ... I want you. The way you are.

“And, whatever you may think, I want you to want it, too. Whatever we do.”

Loki didn’t respond immediately, and Tony got a glimpse, a flash of something over the god’s face. But it disappeared just as quickly. Then: “Oh, thank you, Stark,” with a sneer. No surprise, _sentiment_ and all that, but he shifted back through a blur Tony couldn’t quite make out, and, when he reappeared--Loki the man, again--he had kept the same clothing. Lines of the garments highlighting lean angles rather than curves, smaller nipples still pebbling out beneath the silk.

Oh, God, fuck, that was hot.

Loki offered, “‘Under the shirt,’ correct?” Loki slid a hand under the hem of the tank, exposing a span of belly as he worked his fingers up to a nipple. “What do _I_ want, Stark? That’s what you ask?” His legs twisted in the restrictive fabric, but he slid down a bit more anyway, pulled at the skirt to raise it, just enough to convince. “I want you to show me how these pathetic adolescent fumblings of yours created a memory so potent you wear it plainly on your face.”

Ugh. Yeah--Natasha and new poker lessons, stat.

But.

Loki, in a skirt. He could already imagine rucking it up further, ripping seams in his haste. How the silk over his chest would taste as Tony licked and sucked through it. What Loki’s feet would feel like pressed into _his_ back, dammit.

What Loki would look like, flushed and panting, taking Tony _inside._

Poker could wait.

“All right, babe,” he teased, getting to his knees on the couch and moving over Loki, settling to rest his weight into the arms that welcomed him. “While I get you out of this fucking chastity belt,” he said, teasing and tugging at the hem of the skirt, “let’s start with the kissing.”

Loki came the first time still fully dressed, Tony’s sweaty palm sliding back and forth on the cotton fabric over his cock. And if Tony silently dedicated that one to Missy, Loki didn’t really need to know.

***

So. When Tony slid into Loki, reenacting a long-ago first time on that years-gone couch, they each tried to pretend.

Tony: playing at the selfish boy he was, discovering the hot joys of sheathing his dick in another person, stupidly thoughtless but years away from knowing it. There only to savor the short time it would last.

Infatuated, but uninvested.

And Loki: a cold, corrupted thing, who thought nothing of the man who rode him, who needed no _human_ to place value on his pleasure, his need.

They were trying to pretend, but neither succeeded.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all! You can find me publicly hand-wringing over my writing, or fangirling over other people's, on Tumblr: <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/>


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